No Escape [Stanley x Narrator]

Five

A stupid man, that's what he was. Stanley was such a stupid, stupid man. So stupid, in fact, that after all of this time, he still managed to surprise me.

Normally, I would have rolled my eyes, irritated at his pointless antics. Waiting for the game to restart. Only, it didn't, because Stanley wasn't dead. I didn't even realize it at first, not until I heard him wheezing, and I looked up from my hands to see that he had survived the fall.

He was on the ground. Injured.

My eyes widened slightly, trained on that monitor. How had he survived that? Even if he had caught onto the bridge, the fall was too high. Unless he caught onto something else on the way down- I couldn't get too deep into my ramblings.

Now, I could just leave Stanley to suffer. He did deserve it, after all, to be taught a lesson. But perhaps just living with the injuries was enough - but maybe I could check on him, just to see how bad they were.

I was far too soft for this job. I sighed, opening some drawers at my desk, rummaging through them until I found whatever I was looking for. Did I even have a bad? I ran a hand through my hair, something I tried not to do, as I didn't like my hair messy, but it was a stress habit.

Hallelujah! I nearly cheered, a smile forming on my face as I found a bag. It wasn't quite big enough, but whatever, the specifics didn't matter. Taking in a deep breath, I slung the now heavy bag over my shoulder, turning to the door. Stanley was such a stupid man, and, as per usual, I had to be the one to clean up his mess.

I took a step forward.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

It hurt.

A lot.

Like, a lot a lot.

That was Stanley's first thought, when his mind finally cleared; at least, cleared enough for him to think. His body hurt, nearly every part of it, and his head pounded so hard that he could hardly come to that thought.

He tried to sit up, a strangled cry escaping his lips as he tried. How badly hurt was he? A couple tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, solely from the pain. He couldn't move his leg, and his breathing was wheezy, something that worried him deeply. It was baffling that he was even conscious right now.

At this point, just kill me, Stanley thought.

But death never came. There was no restart. Where was the Narrator? Stanley couldn't hear him, and, in this specific situation, that wasn't a relief. He took in a slow, shaky breath, once again trying to sit up. Yet, he failed once again. Why was he always failing?

Footsteps. He could hear footsteps, and that nearly motivated him enough to push through the pain and run away. He just closed his eyes, focusing on the places that hurt, and the places that were numb. He didn't even know which one was worse.

"You always manage to shock me, Stanley. How does one even get themselves in this situation?" Stanley swallowed hard, a whimper of pain coming from his throat because of it. He kept his eyes closed; he didn't know why, but if the Narrator was going to kill him again, he didn't want to watch it happen. He didn't want to look at the man who had caused all of this pain and death for him.

A sigh came from the Narrator, and Stanley felt arms under his own, lifting him up and dragging him along. He gasped as sharp pains poked at his body, and, for a moment, he squirmed, which clearly didn't make the other man very happy, "For God's sake, stop moving. I'm trying to help you, can't you see that?" The Narrator sounded annoyed, honestly second guessing his decision to come and help Stanley. Nonetheless, he continued on, pulling Stanley to the nearest wall and setting him against it.

Stanley heard him set down something, rummaging around for a moment before a serious of quick clanks rang out from his left. He didn't open his eyes, not even he heard the Narrator say, "Open your eyes, Stanley." A few moments passed, and he felt a cold hand on his shoulder, "I said, open your eyes. Come on, it's not like I'm asking you to speak to me, you idiot. I need to check if you have a concussion." 

After a moment, Stanley slowly blinked open his eyes, his vision still a little watery, "See? Things go so much more smoothly when you just listen to me." The speaker was a blurred figure of a man was kneeled in front of him, and a part of him wished he had the strength to wipe his tears away, to not look like a total wimp... not that he cared what the Narrator thought, but he didn't want to be called a crybaby, or whatever insult he could come up with. 

It didn't come, though.

Just a cloth that wiped against his eyes, gently, as though he were a fragile vase, and he closed them again. It cleared his vision some, he noted upon opening his eyes, but that thought was quickly set aside by the sight in front of him. Two eyes, a bright yellow color; no, not golden. Yellow. There was a faint glow from them, when he looked hard enough, which he had more then enough time to do so. Those same eyes looked into his own, narrowed, studying, and, for a moment, Stanley felt his face heat up.

"I believe that you do have a concussion, though I can't say I know too much about human anatomy... we'll have you rest, though, just as a precaution." Narrator said, clasping his hands together for a moment before going back to looking through the bag. Stanley watched, taking a moment to just stare at the man, the first other living being that he had seen with his own eyes, while in this place.

The same man that had strangled him to death.

And crushed him. And blown him up. And kept him trapped here.

The Narrator somehow looked how he sounded, with grey hair and glasses on his face, and the fact that his hair was rather messy was the only out of character trait that Stanley could think of. He grabbed a couple more things from the bag, looking at Stanley with still narrowed eyes, "Now, where does it hurt?"

Stanley was frozen. Almost everything hurt, or was numb, or anything along those lines. He couldn't just say one specific thing, though, I suppose where it hurt the most was a good response. Not that he responded with that, not in the slightest. He looked at the Narrator, taking in a deep breath, mouthing the words, 'Why aren't you just resetting?'

The Narrator laughed, a sound that would have made Stanley flinched, if he wasn't seriously injured, "Oh, Stanley. Poor, idiotic Stanley... what kind of lesson would this be if I just took it all away?"